


Family Secrets

by cortchuzska



Series: The Sands of Time [7]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Father-Son Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-30
Updated: 2015-06-20
Packaged: 2018-02-15 11:05:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 19,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2226726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cortchuzska/pseuds/cortchuzska
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leo Tyrell discovers the blackest secret about Alleras. It turns out it's no secret at all.<br/>Samwell Tarly and Alleras bond over bedtime stories and archery practice...<br/>Days of turmoil, days of grief<br/>Mourning, Summer Islands style.<br/>A coming out of sorts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Candlelight

**Author's Note:**

> I realized I missed some key points in Sarella's story, and I set to rewrite it. As often happens, it swelled to multi-chapter, and I am posting it as a stand alone work.

“All I can see are naked children. You Dornish are utterly disappointing.” Leo Tyrell looked away from the glass candle with a disgusted scowl. “Most boring sight ever: and you waxed poetic about the place for ours. Never seen the Water Gardens for true, I bet.”

The Sphinx's smile warmed. “What did you expect to see?”

“Staring through the flame gets tiring.” Leo rubbed his eyes. “I was hoping for naked women.”

“Is it all you can think of?”

“You, Alleras, are the worst disappointment of all and a disgrace to your parents.” Lazy Leo peered up at him from under an unruly strand of lighter hair. “Both hail from the two most lustful lands known to man, and their son can't think of anything but links. ”

Alleras gave a shrug. “I came here to forge a maester's chain. Could have fancied naked women in Dorne as well.”

“You could at least share a bawdy story, some of your bed tricks, but no.” Leo complained. “The Sphinx is sparing with his purse and with his secrets alike.”

“You already partook of my wine, which is more than I would like you to.” Alleras shoved the novice from his seat. “My turn of watch now.”

Lazy Leo stood up and stretched, flitting about his eyes, slowly acquainting himself again with the surroundings: the centuries old polished wood of the furniture, mirroring the dark shine of the obsidian candle, the brown figure settling on the bench. Dragonglass cold, never flickering flame etched every shape so harshly against the round walls that the room seemed to spin for an odd trick of light.

“What do you hope to see: naked guys? Amazing you Dornish care for men, with such a bounty of wanton women.”

“What's wrong with Dornishwomen, pray tell?” Alleras squinted darkly at him. “It's not for you, who lust after everyone, to hold a bias against the randiest.”

_Why shall woman be punished or blamed_   
_When with one, more than one commits the same_   
_That man does with how many he desires,_   
_Not just unpunished but receiving praise?_

“Don't get your hackles up, Sphinx.” Leo patted his back. “My are you prickly, when it comes to Dorne! Just wondering how it worked.”

The Sphinx jerked his thin shoulder away. “Ask your cousin for fine details; or was it a proposal, Leo Tyrell? Roone, fine, he is still half a boy; but Pate, you, even Armen! Just because I am Dornish half the Citadel keeps pestering me for random man-to-man advice.”

“The Acolyte seeking counsel from one with less links than him?”

“I'll soon have more.” Alleras replied pointedly.

“See? Links are the only thing you care for, and you are the Quill and Tankard wenches' darling: more is the pity. I am no less good-looking, I dress better, I am a Tyrell and not some nut-brown mongrel: it should be me by right. Is yours some Dornish dark art?”

“Only my father's words to the wise.”

“Such as?”

“No need to brag about when word of mouth works for you.”

The Sphinx leant on the candle and wondered once more why the Mage had seen fit to take in one such as Lazy Leo, who was devoted to anything but serious committment. _Not that he had many lining up to be chosen._ Most of his fellow archmaesters looked at Marwyn with mistrust; like as not, had been Leo to chose him for the very reason that had timid novices steering clear of the Mage and hard-working acolytes avoiding wasting their time with his teachings. A good-for-naught who mocked everyone and everything would pick the most unlikely and controversial mentor for a whim.

“What are you peering at?”

“Trying my luck with the Red Keep.”

“Deftly done. Take a tour of the Queen's chambers since you are at it, and tell me whether you chance upon anything worth seeing.”

“She could be your mother, Leo Tyrell.”

The novice shrugged. “Or the White Tower. She and the Lord Commander are each other's lookalike. If Stannis Baratheon is right, you could catch them making out and have trouble to tell one twin from the other.”

“Would you keep your filthy imagination to yourself for a change? I am aiming at the Smal Council, or the Tower of the Hand.”

“Quite the looker, Tywin Lannister, according to my aunt the lady Olenna.” Lazy Leo sneered. “In the days when the Mad King was a perfectly sane prince: and you dare say Her Grace too old for me.”

“I'd gladly peep at the secrets of still the most powerful man in all the Seven Kingdoms, who keeps puppet kings dancing on his fingers. “

“The Mage said it possible, true, but never said easy to enter people's mind.”

Alleras clenched his jaw as the flame danced wildly on his face like a serpent flailing his tail and morphed his shapely features into a dragon gaping maw, till he had to acknowledge defeat.

“All wishful thinking. I can't even see a brick of Maegor's walls; the more I focus, the more it blurs.” Alleras considered. “What if ours were not the only candles..”

“Another riddle, Sphinx?”

“You can see by candlelight, but if you stare at the flame itself you get dazed.” Alleras put forth. “The Targaryens were the last dragonlords and built the Red Keep.”

“They might as well have kept a secret hoard of dragonglass there, and he Spider got himself some candles. Or not, and they just cloaked the place with a spell. I wouldn't like people peeking at my mind.”

“Why would anyone take the hassle? The only thing within are naked girls.”

“They are _my_ naked girl and I am jealous.”

The Sphinx huffed and bent again over the flame, all for naught.

“The place is cursed; if I saw a thing, they were shades of horror.” He felt a sheet of cold sweat creeping over his skin. “Valyrian sorcery, if any is at work, must be strong about there: the Red Keep has seen its fair share of fire and blood.”

“Mine was dull, yours is worse. I don't mean to suffer your ominous mood: do look elsewhere, Sphinx, and stop harassing that poor hoary lion.”

Alleras took his counsel, albeit with a sceptical raise of eyebrow, and let his gaze wander afar, beyond the dry land of Westeros to the main soothing expanse.

Suddenly the Sphinx perked up as light dappled his face like the feathers of a rainbow-coloured birds spreading its wings.

“Caught your sweet prize at last?”

“A swan ship. “ His eyes brightened into a smile. “Home.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the Italian original of the poem about double standards I partly translated:  
> Orlando Furioso (Canto 4 – LXVI) by Ludovico Ariosto  
> S'un medesimo ardor, s'un disir pare inchina e sforza l'uno e l'altro sesso a quel suave fin d'amor, che pare all'ignorante vulgo un grave eccesso; _perché si de' punir donna o biasmare, che con uno o più d'uno abbia commesso quel che l'uom fa con quante n'ha appetito, e lodato ne va, non che impunito?_


	2. wine from the Isles

“Yours is the honour of sharing a round with me, lads.”

Lazy Leo, uninvited, slouched down at their table and grabbed for a cup out of habit. Not swift enough: the Sphinx snatched it out of his reach with a smirk.

“Hands off, Tyrell.”

“Go honour someone else.” grouched Pate.

“We bought you yesterday already.” Mollander protested. “By rights, today the burden should fall elsewhere.”

Armen stared down his nose at their would-be companion. “Many wonder how Lazy Leo will forge a golden link, when he cannot count his fingers well enough to tell whose turn it is to enjoy his company questionable pleasure and the sure liability of paying for his drinks.”

Alleras picked up the rejoinder. “Nor work out how to split the handsome allowance a Tyrell sapling is entitled to in six shares, instead of drinking it dry within five moons.”

“You have been begging for weeks now.” Agreed Pate.

“You are unfair to him, mateys.” Mollander drained his cup in a swig and waved at the merrymakers. “Leo knows his fingers, but he is too lazy to do more than a hand at a time: that's why he divides up to five only.”

“Whose silken purse is dinner on? Certainly not yours nor the Pig Boy's one.” Scoffed Leo Tyrell. “Our Sphinx is known not to squander at the beginning nor to end up broken by the semester end, and he is one to be relied upon for supporting his needy and famished friends throughout.”

“You are better off than me, Lazy Leo: how could my humble self match a lordling like you, even discounting that my father has to provide for my many sisters?” Alleras smiled, honey-sweet. “Nor are you any of my friends, for that matter.”

“Does it mean you don't want to buy me wine, Sphinx?” Leo sighed. “Your loss: I will have to trade for it.”

“What would you bargain: a threadbare splattered doublet?”

“Once it was the finest green velvet.” Lazy Leo brushed wistfully its worn-out embroidered golden rose. “An ageless item, which only grows better with time. Don a lord's attire and wenches will swoon over you.”

“As they didn't already.” slurred Pate, glancing askance at Rosey, flushed with wine, sitting at the Dornish acolyte's side.

She chuckled “It would become him more than my lord for sure!”

Alleras drabber outfit was always crisp and well-kept, and even in unassuming clothes he pulled off an elegant bearing much more than Leo preened in his best, to the noble-born novice's everlasting regret.

The Sphinx skimmed his tickling fingers along Rosey's cheeks, and she grew even more rosy-cheeked. “Thanks, sweetling; but I wouldn't be in Lazy Leo's hand-me-down dirty wraps nor in his bedraggled boots, for dear life's sake.”

“For a seat at your plentiful table, I am willing to trade a secret. You are riddled with them...”

“As befitting a true Sphinx. They are none of your business!” Mollander slammed down his fist, already far gone in his cups.

“Hop away, Frog; the others would have me spill out Alleras's darkest secret.” Leo went on with a sly smile.

The Sphinx's own one tightened.

“He could summon any girl he fancied with a snap of fingers, were his purse not so tightly laced, but no, our sweet Alleras does sailors.”

Roone's eyes went wide, and the Sphinx took up his laid back mien, twining leisurely Rosey's locks.

“On my word as a Tyrell, he does. This morning as I was taking a stroll on waterfront I saw him with mine own eyes.”

“Did your father take pity on you and send money before due, for you to get that besotted before noon and see things that are not?” Alleras called him out.

“Well, maybe not lowly sailors, but he does captains. Isn't a red feathered cloak the token of command on your ungodly isles, Sphinx? One was tousling tenderly his hair, and our shameless Dornishman looked in very intimate terms with a pox-faced burly fellow too.”

“A wonder how nowadays turnipheads sprout from roses bushes.” guffawed Alleras, the rest of the table already in stitches. “It was my mother: did not I tell you she is a trader captain? and quite proud no one like me ever attended the Citadel; she called at Oldtown and took the chance to see me.”

“A notable woman.” Concurred Armen.

“The burly one is her first mate, whom I knew long before I could spell my name, and he helped us to cart a cask of Summer Islands wine here. Rosey and Emma entreated for me and my personal stack is now stored in the Quill and Tankard very cellars.”

The Acolyte lifted his cup. “A most commendable beverage as well.”

“Nonetheless, you got lucky and can have a taste of this precious nectar, courtesy of the Feathered Kiss captain, for the good laughter you gave us.” Alleras poured to the rim and offered him with a bow. “Would it please my lord to raise a toast to her safe journey?”

“Your mother?” Leo was nonplussed, but would not let them jolly bark at his expense and scrambled for the last word. “One can never tell, with you savages: women do men jobs, dress like men, look like men... Across the Red Mountains they would have a shag with anything as long as they can find a hole to fit in!”

“Careful now, Tyrell: if only by half, I am Dornish enough for you.” Alleras's eyes glinted wickedly. “Even though, by the filth leaking out from your mouth, I doubt you fitted with a discharge hole.”


	3. The night is dark and full of terrors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alleras and Samwell bond over bedtime stories

“Alleras...” The muffled raps at the door wouldn't stop. “May I?”

“Do you realize what time is it, Samwell Tarly?”

“Yes, but that's an emergency!”

“The Others in Oldtown already.” Grumbled Alleras as he rose up and wrapped himself closely in a coverlet, for he would sooner brave the stormy sea than a cold room, and cracked the door open, before the Slayer stirred up the whole Citadel. Sam warily wedged his bulk amongst the books that littered the ground, cast a mistrustful look at the only chair, partly covered by a sheaf of papers with an inkwell on top, and sagged on Alleras's bed edge, which screeched under his weight. Half a seat could accommodate the Sphinx's tiny butt, but would never do for Tarly's massive rump.

“What's up, Sam?”

“I can't sleep in my room.”

“Often it happens to me as well, the first days ashore: nothing like sea waves and a swinging hammock to rock you asleep.” Alleras sympathized. “Everything feels just too still, doesn't it?”

“That's not the problem. I never got used to a ship to begin with, and spent the crossing best part seasick at the gunwale... I have been hankering for steady ground and a proper bed.”

“What else, then: a grumkin beneath it? I don't think the brothers of the Night Watch afraid of the dark.”

“No. A....” Sam fidgeted. “A girl in it.”

“More unusual fixture in a Citadel cell than a grumkin, I understand your shock. Where you too dazed to ask how she got in?”

“I... Got Gilly inside.” reluctantly admitted Sam.

“How did you manage, Samwell? Lazy Leo has been looking for the Citadel secret tunnels in the glass candle, and you discover one in your first days as a novice.”

“We passed through the main gate and nobody noticed. My heart was in my mouth, but in hindsight it wasn't difficult at all. I am built for comfort, so to speak, and she hid beneath my cloak.”

“Neat job. So, why are you here and not with her?”

“Gilly is very pretty... Well, maybe Oldtown posh people do not find her that pretty, but on the Wall even you would... Fact is, I still do... More than pretty, actually. And if we slept together...”

Alleras rolled up his eyes. “What if you do?” His father had not bestowed him much of the infamous Dornish hot-temper, but Samwell Tarly with his second-guessing and minced words would drive the Crone out of her wits.

“Things could happen.” Sam breathed heavily. “The sort of things that are not supposed to happen here.”

“Have you never done it before?” Alleras took the chair with a sigh and sat across Sam. “Listen, it's quite straightforward and nothing to be scared of.”

“I know, Sphinx. We did it quite often while on board.”

“Had you a fight and she is no longer willing?”

“Of course she is, she has always been!” Sam grinned sheepishly. “Very willing. That's the problem.”

“You are willing, she is... I am missing where your problem lies.”

“I have vows to keep. On a ship, it was different, but here... That's why I can't sleep in my room!”

“Why on the Seven Hells did you sneak her in, Samwell? There is always someone trying to smuggle a girl inside the Citadel, only a few succeeded: but you are the first to get one into your bed _not_ to sleep with her!”

“She had nowhere to go.” Under the Sphinx's firm gaze, he gushed out. “She was to stay aboard the Cinnamon Wind until I could see her to Horn Hill, but Gilly has never seen a real city, and I thought it would be nice to show her around before leaving Oldtown: in Braavos she was too scared of people she could not understand and barely left our room. We had a great time together but when back, the port officers told us a curfew was decreed because of the Ironborns, not a soul was allowed to the docks without clearance and they sent us on our way. I had no money for an inn and anyway she is would not sleep alone in it; Gilly does not like strangers. What am I to do now?”

“Calm down. Some paperwork to get her permission is nothing a maester-to-be can not manage.”

“And who would trust her to the harbour; who would vouch for a girl...” Sam wheezed in distress. “From beyond the Wall?”

“You, Tarly: use your name for all its worth.”

“My father's name.” Samwell mouth's twitched, and he whined. “He won't let me use it. If he knew... I don't want him to know I am here.” 

“Why would you worry about your father, when most would piss their breaches at the very thought of a _wildling_ tagging along?”

“They call himself the Free People. Neither you were born in the Seven Kingdoms, not even in Westeros fot that matter. How do you like it when Lazy Leo calls you monkey?”

“Sooner or later I am going to put him to his proper place, but for your Free Woman we need a weightier name than Sand, and Lazy Leo might prove not utterly useless.” The Sphinx quickly resolved. “He is a Tyrell and his father commands the City Watch: who better? We'll have to suffer him at our table for a while, that can't be helped. We go to him first thing in the morning; just let me do the talking.”

“I owe you, Sphinx.”

“Don't mention it, Slayer.”

Sam was still nailed to the floor, and looked about to huddle down and weep. “I would sleep on the ground, if you could spare a blanket...”

Alleras could hardly muster strength and had even less heart to chase him away. He cursed the Mage for sticking him with the wretch named Samwell Tarly; as to snooty lordlings, he had already a bellyfull of Lazy Leo.

“There is not much room on the floor: I am not the best at tidying up.” The Sphinx unfolded a tapestry with rainbow coloured birds and hung it up. “Don't you even think about it, the hammock is mine; sing praise of Dornish hospitality and take the bed. I would sooner part from it than from its blankets, and I will not trust the hooks with your weight:”

“I'd rather not impose: take no issue, but Dornish hospitality is notorious.”

“For spicy foods you Northrons can't put up with?”

“For scorpions whenever guests overstay their welcome, in case cuisine can't get the job done.”

“Fear not, it's no hassle at all for me, and I will not stage to your benefit a second Scorpions Love Dance, as we call it in Dorne. It would be wasted on someone who knows his history as well as Perestan, but Lazy Leo could use a rehearsal. He is so going to find a scorpoion in cadged off wine.” The Sphinx smiled wickedly and climbed up. “When I feel homesick I snuggle in my hammock and it's like being back on my mother's ship.... Toss me the covers and I will sleep like a baby.”

The Sphinx would certainly have, had not been his guest tossing restlessly about.

“Is anything else the matter, Sam the Slayer? Stop rolling in my bed or its creaks will wake up even the deafest archmaester.”

“Speaking of which... Babies, that is. ” Sam heaved a bellows sigh.” They do not sleep as quietly as one would believe.”

“Some of my little sisters were quite on the noisy side.” Alleras had to agree. “Let me guess: when your grew too old for bedtime stories, you began telling yourself tales.” _And grew in the unfortunate habit of talking yourself asleep._

“I did: I was too scared of the dark. ”

Alleras wouldn't put past Samwell Tarly of still being.

“I was frightened and alone. I desperately missed my mother and her stories; she was great at telling, but my father forbade it. I was already soft as mush without her indulging me with slushy tales.”

“My father too was one for stories, and always happy to have a children's audience.” the Sphinx nestled in his comfy bedding with a contented puff. “His bedtime stories were the scariest, but it felt so good listening to him.”

“Do tell. I miss my little sisters, and mother with her storytelling.”

Alleras tried to cut him short. “You are lucky Horn Hill is near: in a few days you will be with your family again. My mother called at Oldtown not long ago, but it's been a while since I saw my sisters and father.”

“Mine is in King's Landing.” Sam's tone had a wary edge the Sphinx couldn't quite make out.

“That's the downside of your station, my lord.” Alleras offered. “The realm greater good comes first, and when the Seven Kingdoms claim your father's service, that's the end of it.”

“Let's not speak of father, all right?”

“What about creepy tales?” Alleras played his ace and hoped Tarly would demur.

“I know quite a lot, but I am not that fond of them.” Sam admitted. “I dug out that book when I was a boy, you know how it's like when a story nails you: no matter how bloodcurdling, I had to finish it; then I was too terrified to sleep, and I read another. So I scared myself into the worst nightmares, if I could but put down the book: sometimes I didn't sleep at all. I was such a craven...” Said Sam wistfully.

“Braver than I was: I too know a wide range of scary stories, but not as many endings. Father dared us to stay up trough the end without cowering under the sheets, and he would cage in a bone-crushing hug and all but truss up in the bedclothes the first who did so, booming with a thunderous voice. 'Soon came a dragon and made them all into a pie, roasted it, and wolfed it down with a lusty serving of dragon peppers doused in wildfire. ' And here he belched. 'It's known, dragons like it hot. ' Even if in his tales there were no dragons at all...” the Sphinx let out a childish chuckle. “For all we pleaded him he would not take up his storytelling again and I always tried my best not to hide away, no matter how frightened, or my older sisters would mock me as a baby and a spoilsport that should better sleep in the nursery.”

“Speaking of which, ” Sam repeated. “What about the babe? He screams quite a lot!”

“ _Which_ babe, pray tell?”

“The one we have... With us.”

Alleras's soft voice turned suddenly cutting. “Is there a baby too, and you still worry about your vows? It's not like you have many left to break.”

“He is not mine nor hers.” Samwell protested.

“Gods. I don't even dare ask whose he is, and why you smuggled him too.” Samwell Tarly of Horn Hill, Gilly of beyond-the-Wall and Unknown Babe made for the queerest family ever.

“Gilly is nursing him, where else could we leave him?”

It could only be a nightmare, Alleras decided; his worst drunk nightmare ever. What madness had possessed him to accept the challenge and let Tyrell drink him under the table? Soon his boot heel would wake him with a rough poke, but that night was born under an ill star and Lazy Leo, true to type, was nowhere to be found when sorely needed. The lucky bastard was likely sleeping off his own hangover somewhere, and the nightmare was still far from an end, as Alleras realized hearing Sam again.

“One more thing, if you don't mind.”

“Speaking of tales, you get only three wishes: that's the last one, make it count.” A sorry thing he had not a batch of scorpions ready at hand to dump on Samwell Tarly from his hammock vantage position. “Is it a pet direwolf, lest Gilly or the babe feel homesick? ”

“A friend of mine had pet direwolf, but no, not Gilly. She was so frightened of him; even if, with little reason: a kind-hearted beast, more than most people.”

_Of course she would be. _Men of the Night Watch and Wildlings, if not the savouriest people, were at least told to be fearless; but Gilly and Sam were afraid of the strangest things; maybe that was why they latched onto each other. Alleras had made port on both sides of the Narrow Sea and beyond, and unknown people were indeed the perk of his travels aboard the Feathered Kiss; since childhood he had always been a curious little one. Gilly had spent her whole life in a secluded croft in the middle of nowhere, and he understood why she was uneasy around men she had never met before; yet he couldn't fathom why Sam felt the same for his own father; and it was not like Alleras had not enjoyed his fair share of scoldings from both his parents.

“I spotted a goldenheart longbow and a full quiver; you know how to nook and draw, I take.”

“Of course I do: the Summer Islands are my mother's homeland, and I can't even remember when she put a bow in my hands.”

“We could train together, yes? Onboard the Feathered Kiss I kept on practising with Kojja Mo and her bowmen, as my Lord Commander ordered; at the Citadel, I shall do better than read every book on archery I come across.”

“You are welcome, Samwell Tarly. It will be good to have as a partner an accomplished bowman and not someone who can barely tell an arrow head from the fletching...”

At least, Slayer scored _one_ good point. It was more than could be said for Leo.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A core point I missed: Alleras and Sam have quite a lot to talk about, experiences to share and compare: archery, the Summer Islands... and, most of all, dad's parenting style.


	4. From the Wall

“Hope she is pretty enough. Can't get why you take the trouble, less why should _I_.”

“I promised archmaester Marwyn to look after him.” Alleras nodded at the dark bulge looming in the dim-lit hallway. Samwell had informed Gilly and was waiting for them before his cell.

Leo dug in his heels. “If I am going to help the girl, I'd have a thorough look at her.”

“For all my travels, I have never met with a true... One from the Free Folk. I am looking forward to it as well.”

“Free as in Free Cities?”

“On his way to Oldtown Slayer stayed at Braavos longer than a layover.” Alleras dropped non-committally. “You are not to see anything, if you don't swear to try your best to help Sam first.”

“Have it your way, Sphinx. I swear.” Leo yielded and approached the black-clad novice, in the hope he would be more forthcoming. “How did you get a Braavosi courtesan to follow you here, Slayer?”

“Cool it, Leo. You are in for a little surprise. Braavos only? Our Samwell is better than that.” Alleras patted his broad shoulder. “Far beyond: from the other side of Wall! Free Folk is the polite word for Wildling.”

Leo stopped in his tracks.

“Turning your tail, Tyrell?” The Sphinx smirked.

He tugged his belt and checked the dagger as Alleras rolled his eyes.

“Are you afraid of a girl? I bet your nurse warned little Leo that Wildlings dragged misbehaving children beyond the Wall. '”

“It was 'Eat up your porridge, lest the Wildlings come and make a meal of you. '”

“Don't worry. Were she hungry, she would have carved herself some Sam's slices already: he looks tasty enough.”

Alleras's mischievous wink was not lost on Samwell. “I forgot to tell you it is considered beyond improper, among the Free Folk, to cut out a rasher from people you are intimate with...”

“Finicky of them, Leo, isn't it?”

“You go in first, Sphinx. Skinny as you are, you should be quite safe; and anyway you savages should get along.”

Sam opened slowly and Alleras shoved Tyrell through the door with a sharp dig in his ribs, hissing “That's for the savage, m'lord.”

Leo stumbled in the spare cell, the others followed on his heels, and Sam closed hastily. A young ungroomed woman, huddled in a corner behind the bed, flicked her eyes up between them, and burrowed even more in her rags bundle.

“It's all right, Gilly. They are my friends.”

“But... She is just some wench!”

“She is.” Alleras scoffed. “Stop gaping, Leo: one might think you never saw a clothed woman before.”

He groused. “Not that I expected a Princess, but to her the Quill and Tankard's girls are Queens.”

The Dornish acolyte paid him no heed, and bobbed his head to her. “Well met, Gilly of beyond-the-Wall. I am Alleras, best known as the Sphinx, since I am a bit of a Dornish and a bit of a Summer Islander, and the oaf is no less than Leo of the House Tyrell, so in case your people up North are misinformed and still believe Lords have manners, you can disabuse them.”

At his rebuke, Lazy Leo leant over and pointedly took Gilly's hand for a kiss, but that just scared her. She let out a muffled whimper while the babe she cradled began crying and Sam turned around a panicked look.

“The gallant knight, rising to the bait and making a fool of yourself.” The Sphinx scowled at Leo, and hunkered down by Gilly humming a lullaby in the Summer Tongue. He unfastened the strap around his neck and rattled beguilingly its shiny links before the baby, whose whimpers turned into happy gurgles as Alleras made funny faces.

“You would make a good father.” Gilly too laughed quietly. “He likes you.”

“Gods, what is it with him and women?” Leo elbowed Sam. “A wildling, and shy as a mouse this one; yet... The Sphinx could have his way with everyone, if he cared.”

“Four feisty little sisters: lots of practice with squalling babes.” Alleras answered and put on again his thong, but the baby pulled at it and squirmed from Gilly's arms so that he had to hold him, lest he fall and start wailing again. “Already a firm hold, this one.”

“I think he likes people from the Summer Islands.” Gilly went on. “He is good at telling people true colours: maester Aemon was fond of him, and the baby liked him back.”

“How did you like it aboard the Cinnamon Wind, Gilly?”

“At first I was afraid they would look down on me as if I were a beastling or worse: people I don't know frighten me and the little one. We don't like them, do we?” The baby burped in agreement as Gilly rocked him. “They welcomed us instead, and by the end they were no longer strangers: Xhondo made a rattle for the baby, and Kojja gave Sam a longbow, to remind him of the Cinnamon Wind crew and of what he learned aboard.”

“Not one to be easily refused, but a bighearted woman.” Samwell unfurled an oilcloth and showed the bow.

Alleras stood up and took it, ran his thumb on the smooth grain of polished heartwood to the tapering ends, and let out appreciative noises while he weighted its balance bouncing it from hand to hand. “I couldn't agree more, Samwell: such a beauty begs for a target. Let's meet at the Quill and Tankard's after noon, and brush up your archery as we wait for Leo to be back with Gilly's papers. A nice place for shooting, and for wetting your thirst afterwards.”

 


	5. Missed targets

Another arrow flew high past the target and got lost in the blue. A crystal clear day, by all means the best for bow practice, not a whisper of wind to stir the leaves of the orchard trees.

Allers snapped. “You closed your eyes when you loosed: was it a blindfold challenge?”

“I am sorry: sunlight glanced off the river...”

“Small chance the Ironborns will burnish their armour to be easier on your eyes.” The Sphinx chided drily. “Again, Sam!”

He took a deep breath, notched and draw: another miss.

“Just look, for the old gods and the new sake.”

“I didn't blink: I was looking, I swear.”

“ _Where,_ pray tell?”

“I missed nothing: the apple tree, Rosey with a tray and some empty tankards, the hedges and the fence gate, the Honeywine beyond and... ”

“Is that all?” the Sphinx cut him short, his everlasting smile thinner. “Against odds, you suffer from a case of wandering eye even worse than Lazy Leo's: everything but the apple, the one and only thing you were supposed to look at!” His voice rose to a shrill; the City Watch was busy with the Ironborns' threats, Tyrell had taken his sweet time and Alleras had enjoyed a whole afternoon to assess Samwell's skills and shout his throat raw.

“Try as you may, you will never make a marksman of him, Sphinx. You'd better sit with me and have a drink, lads: my old man doled out some silver, along with the girl's clearance letters.”

Samwell was sweaty and winded, but looked at Alleras, who shrugged in answer, and gladly took Lazy Leo's offer. The Sphinx let fly a couple of shafts just for show, then unbraced his bow and joined them. He dropped his head on the table and crossed his arms with a crestfallen moan, pushing away the brimming tankard.

Rosey scuffed her bare feet on the terrace plank as introduction, laid down a sheaf of stray arrows she had picked up and took the chance to rub his scruff.

“Cheer up, Alleras. Not anyone is blessed with your aim... Ouch!” She scurried away.

The Sphinx raised his head and growled. “Tyrell, try to keep your hands to yourself next time.”

“She seems to like you.” Sam felt dejected as well, but no one had come over to comfort him. His gaze did not left the bundle he was checking: parchments flashy as letters of credence, as in the style set in Oldtown by the Hightowers, but lacking the mandatory City Watch commander's signature.

“The others do, Tarly.” Lazy Leo hooted. “Rosey has a proper crush on him: no denying it, Alleras has a secret way with women.”

“No secret at all: just look at him, Samwell.” Tyrell puffed out his chest. “Never do anything he does. M'lord, you have a lot to apologize about Gilly.”

Sam would rather smooth over the mishap. “She didn't take to it that badly: the only Queen we ever met was Selyse Baratheon.”

“Gilly could as well take it as a compliment.” Sneered Leo. “The would-be royal couple are evenly matched: what lacks on Stannis's bald forehead grows back on her lip.”

“Gossip.” Alleras shut him up. “It's known the Tyrells have wicked tongues and little love for the Florents.”

“My aunt's very words: I call forth the eyewitness.”

“We just saw her from afar.” Sam would not take side; his mother was from the same house, and he would not speak ill of Queen Selyse.

Alleras huffed. “You humour him just because of the Gilly's papers.”

“Be it as it may, my father will be sorely disappointed, when he comes over to scribble them.”

“Why would he?” Sam understood he would come and ask him some questions, but he certainly had no intention of disappointing Ser Moryn.

“He took a sudden fancy to longbows, a sorry thing you can't put up a mummer's show of a shot. Steel is a man's weapon of choice, but sadly of little use against sea scum, and until the Hightowers build up a new fleet, even children baubles would do. ”

“Wood is the proper way to deal with the Ironborns: swift crafts, and swifter arrows.” Alleras agreed. “Steel is worse than a toy on a merchantman: your pretty braavosi blades no better than a courtesan's fan against throwing axes, and plate armour only a hindrance that would weight a man down to the bottom of Whispering Sound.”

Samwell fiddled with his bowstring. _Would-be-maesters don't go at each other and roll in the dirt, do they?_ He felt as lost as the Citadel as he had felt at the Wall, among rowdy young men of motley backgrounds from all the Seven Kingdoms. _Except they are here for asking._ Luckily, on the scent of fresh money a serving girls came to flaunt herself before them. Shetraded some quips with the Sphinx while Sam went red; by the end Leo took her by the waist and pulled her to sit on his lap, with many giggles and wiggles on her part, and the was forgotten.

Soon enough their low-voiced dickering was over and they disappeared indoor, as Alleras waved up his tankard in a toast.

“To a golden age, just dawned and quickly drawing to an untimely end; to the fleeting days when Leo Tyrell could afford paying for his cider.”

He took a swig and turned to Sam with a smirk. “Wenches dote on me, but they like Leo's coin the best.”

“Either way, they take little notice of me.”

“Come on, Sam the Slayer. Gilly likes you well enough: she looks up to you as you just stepped out of a tale from the Age of Heroes. She followed you to the end of her world, and beyond.”

“It wasn't because of me. The Lord Commander's ordered it.”

“The best Lazy Leo could bring back from the Wall are lice, if they would have him. Even Kojja warmed to you: don't delude yourself her longbow was an acknowledgement to your marksmanship.”

“She is only a friend, Alleras. You are the one every who knows his way around women.”

“You aren't that bad either, Samwell Tarly.” The Sphinx stretched his back. “Did your Lord Commander said anything about breaking your vows with Gilly too?”

“He warned me against it.” Sam replied bashfully.

“Did he now? In so many words, he was aware you had a liking to her and shipped the two of you to Braavos of all cities, with its moonshine, pools and singers...”

It suited Daeron well, but he had no fondness for a place where everything could be had for the highest price, be it plain water, firewood or love. Samwell could hardly make out his own jumbled feelings: the childish bitterness of betrayed friendship, because all in all Jon had tricked him, had played to his own ends on something he treasured so much he did not dare name; and a rush of warmth for giving him the chance to be with her. Nonetheless he was loyal to the Night's Watch and would uphold its good name.

“Had I not been beside myself with rum and sorrow... Then Xhondo and Kojja threatened to dump me on Dorne coast.”

“You could use a stay there, Samwell Tarly: you still fret about what happened between you and Gilly, and everyone at the Wall saw it coming long before you did.” Alleras shook his curly head. “On such matters, the Dornish and the Summer Islanders are the only ones with a dribble of sense.”

Even without taking into account Jon was likely half Dornish, his life with the Free People had changed his views in many ways. Lord Snow, if not flouting the rules, was at least stretching them to an unprecedented extent, taking in all and sundry, whores, wildlings and Stannis Baratheon to boot, without caring for the wave of hostile murmurs stirred by his new course. Even slacking up on sword practice for bow drills had been an ill-received decision, not only by older brothers, who considered a weapon better apt to outlaws no less than a disgrace to the Watch, but also by those who had suffered Ser Alliser Thorne's training and could not see why new recruits should have it easier. Sam better forge himself a chain before Jon got himself into troubles, but archery brought him back to the problem at hand.

“What to do with Leo's father?”

“I wouldn't worry being forcefully enlisted, if I were you, no matter how short on bowmen the City Watch is.”

“Will he still sign Gilly's papers, when he realizes I cannot shoot an arrow?”

“The Watch Commander wouldn't bestir himself for a couple of longbows, even if now garnering archers from swan ships must be hard, with less than half the usual number riding at anchor and captains loath to let go of their men because of the Ironborns roaming freely.”

“How could Ser Moryn figure I might help with that? I don't even speak the language!”

“I do, and it shouldn't be difficult for one who plotted and schemed right under Stannis Baraheon's nose to cajole a few masters to share in their bows for the common safety, all the more if the Hightowers were to put on the table duty exemptions as a token of heartfelt gratitude.”

“They would stay in Oldtown for a fortnight at best, then be back to their ships and be gone forever.” Alleras had some merit, but he had been through too many battles to trust skill only. “Even if not the best marksmen, the Watch know each other as well as their way around the port and its wynds. With some practice, in no time they'll turn into better bowman than me.” Sam faltered. “Not that I presume to be one.”

“But you are keen eyed in your own way: speak out.”

The Sphinx's smile shone warm and wicked, and Samwell boldly voiced his foolish idea.

“Ser Moryn has to sort out the problem of his men longbow training; Kojja is in charge of the Cinnamon Wind archers and knows the Common Tongue... I could get her help, she is fond of Gilly, the only drawback is she is a woman and he will never agree.”

The Sphinx's tankard nudged Sam's.

“If Ser Moryn is desperate enough to look to you, Samwell, he will jump on the chance.”

 


	6. Dragon Chasers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More archery, more fathers.

“No one would name me as his champion.” Samwell pulled out his arrow from a butt stand, and turned to Alleras; they enjoyed free access to he City Watch brand new archery field by courtesy of Moryn Tyrell.

The commander of Oldtown Watch was a portly man, whose ash-blond hair had turned mostly to ash-grey, with his son's same cast of features; no doubt about whom Leo owed his good looks to. Yet to be decided whence his laziness came from: Ser Moryn had entered the Quill and Tankard, lamented a man had hardly the time for a thimbleful of cider these hectic days and ordered a pitcher of the strongest, flirted with Emma recalling the good old days when he was a callow stripling new to Oldtown, warned everybody not to deal on tick with his son, for the last bill he had footed had been an hefty one and he was not going to shell out a groat from now on, before sitting at their table with a resonant “Gambler a little, yes, but so was I; who can fault a man for overindulging his last son?”

He welcomed the suggestion to hire Kojja Mo, a master archer of the Summer Island with more than a smattering of Common Tongue was indeed a piece of luck, even if the Reach was not Dorne and his men could chafe at a woman in charge of their training, but Sam assured him she could well assert herself; anyway the Cinnamom Wind would not stay long and Ser Moryn bade them genially to show off their best. He praised Alleras's aim, and mostly his patience and firmness with Sam, and finally asked him to oversee to the drills on occasion, so that the Watch archery wouldn't go to rust. The Sphinx had taken up the task, on condition the Citadel students could use the same butts.

“What are you trying to accomplish, pitting me against Leo? He doesn't even own a dragon.”

“Nor do I, so you'd better do your very best.”

A dragon, that is Rosey; it was clear which one she would have and Samwell could not let down a friend. He plucked another shaft from his quiver. How could Alleras be so blithely confident about _him_?

“If you wanted me to champion you, my first link would have been a better chance.” Huffing, Sam stiffened his back and bent his bow.

The Sphinx scrunched up his nose. “Not even Leo would be fool enough to pick up the challenge. You forged a copper in no time, and your second link is in the offing: you are already best friend with Walgrave's birds.”

Samwell loosed. “Wish I could flick arrows the same way.”

“Look!” Alleras clapped. “You made the outermost ring.”

“Did I?” Sam blinked and words rolled out. He even flushed a bit; maybe, it was just exertion. “Getting a link was nothing, I always loved history and in Castle Black vaults I sifted trough books younger only to the Wall that not even the Citadel knows of, so said maester Aemon... The ones brought by the Cinnamonn Wind were gems dug out from hidden treasures; there are so many more!” The unused warmth of praise felt good; Samwell could never be a match to him with a bow, but Alleras acknowledged him as a peer as to what most mattered them both. “Which metal was your first?”

“Bronze.”

Samwell gave a shudder. “You were a bold one, to sit before archmaester Vaellyn!” His rivalry with the Sphinx accounted for Leo's chosen weapon in this mock duel better than his studious cousin's star maps collection.

“Less than one would think: I love books too. Way too much, mother rebuked me when I was caught filching a candle, my Dornish father was turning me into a careless greenlander – as if Dorne were much green - and she took away my locker keys. I was allowed to study sea charts only; if I still wanted to read at night, it was time I learned how to read the sky in earnest and steer a ship by the stars. Here is my gold link secret too: a whole journey scrubbing the deck, and slaving over accounts when in port. I deserved worse, you don't kindle unallowed flames on a ship.” The Sphinx smoothly drew the bowstring to his ear and stressed his point with a true strike. “A most needed lesson: in life there is so much more than books, even if they are one of its best parts, don't you agree? You must have lived your fair share of adventures.”

“I would have contented myself with books only.” Sam demurred.

“Would you now?” Alleras winked wickedly. “What about Gilly?”

“Once in it adventure is not as... As adventurous as when you read of it.” Samwell shifted from foot to foot. “A mouse would have been company enough; I fancied I could bury myself in the library vaults forever.”

“Sam, you would be awfully wasted!” protested Alleras. “Even on the most cultured rodent in Castle Black racks.”

“Yet, I can't understand why you chose me. Links or bow, you are good at everything you set to and should have entered the lists yourself.”

“Ever seen me ahorse? I would make a hopeless jouster.”

“Are you a poor rider as I am?”

“Barely passable by Dornish standard, and about abysmal in my father's views. I feel more at home on a ship deck than on a saddle; if he wants himself a lancer, he'd better try his luck with my little sister.” His eyes glinted mischievously and his second arrow hit the mark. “As to our bet, I like myself a fair game. A ring for a ring: his first link and your first bull's eye.”

That is, Lord Tyrell and Lord Tarly vying for Rosey's graces, and fighting with gear ill-suited to them, to the Sphinx's amusement. He knew his way not only with women and could trick people into committing with a vengeance to what they would rather not do. Now Leo was toiling over the Stargazer's tomes, while Samwell was growing calluses on his hands instead of leisurely fretting about Gilly.

At first he had feared her too uncouth for Horn Hill, but his mother could not have enough of his deeds beyond the Wall, in Braavos and across he Narrow Sea, of tales of his bravery, cunning and determination, and the would-be scullion had turned quickly to lady-in-waiting in all but name.

Sam blurted. “What if she grows too refined for me?”

He had latched onto her because Gilly was even more frightened and desperate than him, yet brave in her own way, and she had looked to Sam only because he couldn't run off a scared rabbit, but he had nothing to do with accomplished ladies.

“No use asking who.” The Sphinx lowered his bow. “Never, ever follow Leo's advice: it's a fool's errand to peer through a glass candle as if you wanted to make good of your own fears.”

He cursed Tyrell who had dared him to have a look at how Gilly was doing and fanned his misgivings, and more himself for heeding him. The Sphinx had warned him, faith breeds on faith, the best way to win such games was not to play, and he'd better put his heart at ease and trust her. Wise words, for one who had no reason to doubt himself; if Sam only could.

“Ladies dream of brave knights in shining mail who save women and children...” Sam went gingerly on.

“What's wrong with a tattered black cloak? Trust Gilly for knowing better than judge a man by the bling. ”

“I didn't save her. We pushed through together: I couldn't get a fire going by myself...”

“A truer bond than those in tales, and I doubt they hear that many beyond the Wall.”

“She will now; and the hero is always handsome and blond.”

“That is, more like Leo? Drat.” The Sphinx pulled at a curl and squinted at it. “No hope a for a princess swooning over me... Tarly, you don't know women. ”

“You do: even Gilly, usually so shy, took to you straight off. What's your secret?”

Alleras flashed his winning grin. “A Sphinx never reveals his. Or, I might as well: worse come to worst, just smile.”

“It sounds too simple.”

“Why? Women are simple beings.”

“Smiles are for you and Leo, for bold handsome guys they like to look at and speak to.”

“Handsome? I don't find him that comely and he calls me monkey! I can climb a ship mast as fast, actually.”

Alleras was indeed easy to talk with and Samwell wondered if that was all the trick about it. The effortless smiles of one who had never feared others' views drew to him, and his inquisitive yet welcoming eyes prompted people to open up.

“You are always so at ease, and I can't help tripping over my tongue.”

“Is it the black secret you are to coax out of me? Growing up with a gaggle of sisters did it; I could have given over my tongue for fish bait, if I had let them cow me into silence.”

“I enjoyed staying with mine, but my father...” Sam picked at his arrow-case fastenings aimlessly. “He always blamed me. I had no business with them and their music lessons.”

“I too was told I was one for sneaking where I did not belong, whenever I tried to join the elder girls in whatever they were doing.”

“Did your father scold you as well?”

“Why? My sisters did: they were none all too happy with me middling in.”

“Lord Tarly wouldn't have me wasting time with women. A boy should train to be a warrior, don chain-mail and padded leathers, not cower behind his mother and sisters' silks.”

“No wonder such warriors never conquered Dorne and were baked right off the Red Mountains; veils are a more effective than plate against our unforgiving sun. Dornsh riders are lightly armoured with steel and silks both, my harsh homeland calls for both options.” Alleras offered. “As you see, silks are not out of place in the practise yard, where my sisters were seen drilling quite often.”

“Wasn't your father disappointed with them?”

“Neither was he much annoyed at our less warlike pursuits: he himself writes songs. Try all you like, and try your best, he said us. Boys or girls, we'd better know how to take care of ourselves, and learn to choose what best suit us, not only as to weapons... Though I can't deny he was sorely disappointed when I picked mother's.” A red fletched shaft whizzed to the target. “The Dornish are too fond of their yew bows, but he came round eventually. I would not have a shoddy dupe over the real thing and a great-axe could never be my thing: I am too skinny.”

“I am not, but I hated great-axe all the same; nor had I better luck with a sword. I loathed Heartsbane wholeheartedly. Even the Kingslayer would give his right hand for it, my father's eyes shone with pride skimming the rippled surface of his Valyrian blade, yet the best sword is only as good as the man who wield it, and I was was a disgrace not up to a skewer. I got to try as many different weapons as many different masters-at-arm; nothing would do for me.”

“Whenever Oldtown jails need a clean-up, their denizens are dispatched to serve at the Wall. By and large, burly louts who get too often into trouble with the City Watch and who would gleefully hack and slash with anything close by. Your Lord Commander chose you because a honed mind cuts as Valyrian steel if you know how to wield it, and you were born for the Citadel if one ever was. How come you ended up in the Night Watch instead?”

Sam would rather forget why, but the Sphinx pressed on.

“For the old books whose only copy is treasured in Castle Black, or were you still craving for adventures you had only read of?”

“You don't know my father. He is... Randyll Tarly is a.. Famed warrior, and a hardy man.”

“Don't be coy, Samwell: even without a copper link I would know who he is! and Leo could show more respect for the son of the man who won all the few battles his cousin didn't lost. My lord father, a man of formidable repute: it has a nice ring to it, hasn't it?”

“Kind of you to say so.”

Sam would not disabuse Alleras; he could figure, but never share, the enthusiasm of a brown skinned boy staring at the lonely sea and dreaming of heroic deeds, growing up in a dilapidated mudbrick keep and fancying himself the son of a powerful Lord, instead of an impoverished Dornish lance.

On the claim the Sphinx's purse never drained and his bearing belonged into a great hall Leo had named him for a Lord's son, but people see what they want to, and Tyrell was more comfortable with a rival, that is a peer, about his own station. He had gone as far as to pore over _The Lineages and Histories of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms_ , and reel out every lord and heir in Dorne nobility roll, to wheedle from Alleras his father's name.

He had laughed off them all, and thrilled at last “Not even the house, my lord.”

Tyrell, still unconvinced, had snatched a signet strung with Alleras's links.

“An elephant: whose sigil is it, Samwell?”

“A Ghiscari coin, charmed by a Maegi; my father's keepsake.”

“What would he do in Essos?”

“Pursue his fortune as a soldier; not everyone can boast of House Tyrell glorious feats and immense wealth.”

“How well did it work?”

Annoyed by Leo's nagging, the Sphinx had closed curtly.

“He made it to Dorne alive and met my mother on his journey back, so the charm turned out lucky enough.”

Sam trusted best Alleras's tale of a sellsword without land to his own name nor a title he could bestow his children. The Sphinx's purse was likely filled from his mother's coffers, or rather her account at the Iron Bank and not from his father's revenue; he spent as a trifty tradesman more than a profligate lord, and his small but regular tips made him no less popular at the Quill and Tankard than Leo's extravagance bouts. As to his manners, Dorne was a poor land where even the smallest lordling could boast of royal blood, and fierce pride was the last resource to uphold a long-faded glory.

Nonetheless Alleras's humble parentage, in Samwell's opinion, scored some good points over the elavated Lord Tarly.

“Your father might be half a nobody but mine... He always scared me.” He stuttered. “He was not as kind and accommodating as yours.”

The Sphinx half choked on that and missed his last target. “Several would call my father sharper names than yours, rest assured. Most people find him downright scary.”

“Yet you don't.” Sam hurried on. “Lord Tarly didn't consider a maester's career manly enough for a his son; shipping me to the Wall was his last chance.”

“For what? It would seem to me women are not allowed to attend the Citadel more than they are to serve in the Night Watch; nor Moryn Tyrell does object at Leo wasting time and money on the thin pretext of a link.”

“His father has a soft spot for him.” Sam replied wistfully.

“A blind spot, more like.” The Sphinx hit back.

“To mine I was a disgrace to bury the furthest from Horn Hill: the Night's Watch was to make a warrior of me, or kill me in the process.”

Alleras smiled ever so softly, but his voice hardened. “If he can't find in himself pride for the man you are, but only scorns you for not fulfilling his fancies, his loss entirely.”

“For yours is so proud of your skill with a longbow, is he?”

“To the end of his days, he would never admit to it.” The Sphinx smirked fondly. “Yet I strongly suspect he is. What truly bothers him is my lack of appreciation for Dornish sour. 'You took too much after your mother: many wonderful things from the Summer Islands to pick from, but the cloying syrup they pass as wine. ' I gainsaid him, favouring her was no big issue, since he had approved of my mother well enough to father a child on her.”

Well enough to bed but not enough to wed, yet the Sphinx had not fled to the Citadel from a house that had never been his home. Samwell Tarly couldn't help recalling another bastard, another friend.

“The only thing I gleaned from oldest servants' whispers was Lord Stark brought me back from Dorne. He was so ashamed of her he would never speak of my mother. I hoped he would tell me about her, once a man of the Night Watch, and now all I'll ever know is she was some Dornish whore. Not even her name.”

To Jon, losing his father had been losing again his mother too, and forever. There was a reason why Snow, who was the best of them, the most skilled with arms, had soon befriended and treated on a par the dismaying failure that Tarly was. Pyp, Grenn, the others had grown into brothers with time; but Jon and Sam shared the kinship of outcasts who had never quite fit in.

Alleras was not like them; he wore his smooth self- confidence gracefully as a cape chance tossed over one shoulder and would sport the same suave smile before Rosey or Queen Cersei. He was foreign to the awkwardness or bitterness of those who had spent their life feeling out of place, as to the cavalier haughtiness of an entitled lording like Leo, who threw digs at everyone for his sport as if nothing could ever cut him. The Dornishman, biting as well, had a keen eyes to unfairness and would not sit by.

Alleras the Sphinx could never wrap his mind around the kind of parent Randyll Tardy was, despite his birth circumstances he had never felt truly unwanted. His sisters poking at him spoke more of rowdy fondness, jealousy even; no matter their spats, as only natural his father had favoured his only boy over them.

Samwell summed it up. “Wish I had a father like yours, someone I could make proud of me.”

“Yet you are at the Citadel with a chain to forge to Randyll Tarly's face: by the end, you bested him, even discounting achievement such as slaying Others and shattering Tywin Lannister's plans to put one of his henchman in charge of the Night's Watch.”

“It was not really my own idea.”

“Stop discounting yourself and listening at his voice repeating inside your heads that you are a fat, clumsy, worthless good to nothing.”

“I am fat ungainly lump.”

Alleras didn't bother denying it.

“You are what you are, Samwell; and with that you fought your battles and did what needed to be done when it really matters. You proved equal to the task set before you, you need not to dream of a father's praise to vouch for your worth.” Alleras singsonged. “Most of all, careful with what you wish for: you don't want to suffer sisters like mine. They would eat up for a snack a shy boy the likes of you.”

“Are really Dornish girls the way they are told to be?”

“Are wildlings, Sam?”

“Across the Red Mountains or beyond the Wall, girls are just girls, I suppose. I'd like to know a Dornish one nonetheless.”

“Something of Leo is rubbing off. Shall I write to Horn Hill of your philandering ways?”

“Gilly can't read, I am afraid, and I've never met with a real Dornishwoman.” Samwell insisted.

“Better you don't.” The Sphinx laughed naughtily. “They are worse, much worse than you could ever imagine.”


	7. Blood of Dorne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Days of turmoil, days of grief

_There’s naught I can do about Sarella save pray that she shows more sense than her sisters. Leave her to her. Game._

An apple plopped to the ground.

“Sweet: the topmost, Slayer! If not a maester, the Sphinx would make a master-at-arm.” Mollander hailed the shot, but no one joined his cheers.

Samwell lowered his head. “He would; but I aimed for one on the lowest branch.”

“Well, you hit something, and that's a lot of a something, Tarly. Do you presume you can still best me?” Tyrell spun a copper star. “When you rounded on the purported Other it was another lucky miss like as not. That, or the tricks of a frozen mind.”

White ravens had flown from the Rookery, a dull sky tarried slackening into rain and added to the overall foul mood. Lazy Leo's attempt at humour met no more luck than Mollander's stubborn endeavour to buck up the company.

The moodiness had rubbed off on patrons, and even tavern wenches were no longer as cheerful; Rosey looked positively dejected and cast soulful glances at Alleras's seat.

Roone turned to and fro, like a restless pup. “Where is the Sphinx?”

“Past time he shows up.” Samwell huffed, picking up his arrows. “We agreed to get a bite here before going to the butts and practising on earnest.”

“He is a man of reason and has given up hope of you winning his bet.” Sneered Lazy Leo.

Rosey came to their table and looked around for the umpteenth time, traded some words and skittered off.

Mollander hobbled back from the apple tree and called out. “What did you do to her now? The poor thing was about to cry.” 

“Did you name yourself keeper of her virtue, Hopfrog? Such a dainty bit is not for you; and in case, I just patted her hand.” Tyrell heaved an annoyed breath. “She asked again about the Sphinx.”

Armen drew up his nose from his cider and pinched his lips. “Pray he has the sense to keep a cool head. The Dornish are roiling, as of late.”

Oldtown had kept aloof during the Five Kings' war, nonetheless the seams between the Seven Kingdoms had nearly burst open, and rifts between acolytes from different homelands had swelled to more than a brawl chance. Not yet abated words of strife had rekindled of a sudden and the hot blooded Dornish were ablaze.

“As they mostly are, Acolyte.” Leo dismissed him. “I would worry if they weren't.”

“Uncalled for uproars, if you ask.” Armen put forth primly. “They always spoil for troubles, and their prince had been asking for it. Siding with a traitor is tantamount abetting treason.”

“Go tell them; and don't come back whining if you end up with no teeth to munch your porridge.”

For Tyrell had been taught a sharp lessons, about keeping to himself his thoughts about the whole sorry matter within Dornish hearing.

The Acolyte had voiced his disbelief at the first disjointed news: how could possibly a prince have anything to do with such a heinous crime? Lazy Leo had made mock of him, since scorpions, snakes and murder by poison were precisely where the Dornish belonged with.

Alleras had fixed his eyes on him, without replying. He had made no reply at all, nor with his usual good cheer nor scathingly, and blankly stared at him for the whole night. The retribution had stricken all the more sudden; the Sphinx had pulled on Tyrell a prank nasty enough, and Leo had threatened to put to good use his braavo's blade.

For all his fatherly forbearance, the commander of the City Watch would not have his own son provoking the Dornishmen so, but Samwell was anyway thankful Leo now spent most of his nights staring at the sky, while the Dornish acolyte had quite given up staring through dragonglass candles. He did not fancy being the only one left standing between them, when they would come to blows.

“Let's hope Alleras pays no heed to rabble-rousers and stays clear of the mess.” Armen droned on.

“As if they would have him.” Mollander snarled. “He is Dornish by half only, as some of his countrymen pointed out. I would have gladly kicked off the bastards' teeth, but Sphinx stopped me. If I was drunk enough to dare spill Dornish blood, I would have to start with his. Then the City Watch came and shooed everybody off.”

“Has he got wind of what the Dornish are up to?” asked the Acolyte.

“We walked into the nearest inn to cool down, but he was sulky and didn't speak much.”

He would be: slings from your fellows burn the most Half-whispered words about the Starks keeping the same heathen goods and being half wildling themselves, and wargs too, despised and feared by those self-same savages, had smarted Jon more than is foes' open accusations.

“It's not like him to keep quiet.” Roone wondered.

Hopfrog shrugged. “I did most of the talking. We stayed up to ungodly hours and he matched me tankard by tankard; he only asked about my father.”

“He must have been severely stoned.” Quipped Leo unconvincingly. “Your story has already bored everyone out of his britches.”

The reason why Mollander and his third tankard were often left to each other's society, Sam considered.

Armen wagged his head. “What would the Dornish do, storm the Red Keep with a quill?”

“Fear not, my father has the situation well in hand.” Leo claimed. “Our City Watch is not a ruse like the Gold Cloaks; in Oldtown offices of import are held by trusted men of noble birth and greedy scum such as Janos Slynt would not make it to the lowest lines.”

Samwell was no longer sure that hailing from a keep instead of a hut made a man better, only offered better chances to those good enough to take them. With the proper training from an early age, many of his lowborn brothers in the Night Watch would have made Randyll Tarly proud as he never could.

Yet, there was something to say for how the Watch ranks were filled and the men in its charge were picked, instead of buying their office. The city had always been a thriving port and a learning centre, and the Hightowers warded the peace tradesman and scholars were so oddly fond of with the same covetous care the Lannisters devoted to their mines, and addressed their best effort to keep Old Town safe and peaceable, despite the disorderly sailors and the no less riotous students teeming in it.

“The Dornish are crying for blood, the Sphinx elected brooding by himself.” Armen lamented and spieled off. “Acolytes or novices, we all should stick together, and forget whence we came from, along with any previous loyalties: a maester leaves beyond even his family name. Were there any uproar at the Wall, when the Starks rebelled? Yet, I understand there are many Northmen in the Night's Watch.”

“It's not that taking the black turns you into ice.” _Becoming Lord Commander does._ Sam countered, and defended his friend. “The Sphinx is out of sorts lately.”

 _Has been for a while._ His veneer of smooth-talker and a jolly fellow had cracked; his smiles were more cutting than soft, a new darkness haunted his eyes, and even his longbow string buzzed angryly.

Alleras had little liking to cider, it was not like him to miss practice, less to indulge to Hopfrog's drunken sulking.

“I'd better go seek for him.”

Most of all, it was not like Sam to let down a friend in need.

“Ask Pate. He came here with a raven for Alleras.” Hopfrog took two swigs in a row and snatched another tankard. “Dark wings, dark words.”

Lazy Leo lumbered up. “Sorry thing to trade wine for Vinegar, but your ramblings would sour the best Arbor gold; I could as well go back to archmaester Vaellyn's tomes. Not half as dull as your company.”

Armen muttered about lessons, and left with Roone.

Only Mollander stayed, alone with his cider, as the shadows lengthened and a dank haze crept up from the Honeywine, foreboding dusk.


	8. Valar dohaeris

“ _Nothing. My father is very good at doing nothing. He calls it thinking.”_

_\---_

_Tyene answered for the three of them. “It is doing nothing that is hard, Uncle.”_

Sam stopped halfway on the landing. He still misliked stairs, for all the winch cage best efforts, and the rookery steep ascent had turned into the main drawback of becoming a maester. _Apart from dissection;_ but he had found his bravest voice and unburdened himself. “You make too much of dark rumours and nasty tales. Pigs are our common fare: human corpses are far too much costly to be used as training dummies.” Alleras had eased his concern, and Lazy Leo laughed it off. “You will do great, Slayer. Raw or cooked, you can carve chops as proficiently as any man.”

With his friends' support, Sam had swallowed his fears and neatly sliced his first pork to Ebrose's full satisfaction. The animal was nicely marbled, and by rights would briliantly end a short academic career soused in a spicy sauce of minced crab apples and grace the archmaesters' table.

Now it was his turn to help Alleras. A craven would have taken the chance and wheeled around, but Jon had forbidden Sam to call himself so, and what other name could he use, if he backed away?

“May I?” He knocked; the door was not bolted. “Is anyone within?”

No answer came; he entered all the same. The Sphinx wouldn't mind his intrusion: Samwell had stormed in, in the pitch of night, when Alleras and he were barely acquainted.

The small cell was so tidy it looked empty, as no one had dwelt there, or if anyone ever had, he was about to leave. Only a bump in the hammock betrayed the Sphinx's presence; speckles of dust softened the still symmetry of a stoppered flagon, pen cases and piled books, haphazardly marred by a letter discarded on the desk.

As he reached for the stinted lines Alleras jolted down.

“I didn't mean to pry.” Sam mumbled, abashed. He was the sort who couldn't help reading whatever scrap met his eyes.

_You are the bravest of my late brother's, child. We share more than a name: you are blood of my blood. Rest assured I never forget those of mine own._

The scroll bore no seal, and Samwell had already glanced at the crooked letters scratched on the parchment that Alleras snatched from him, clutching it to his bosom, as to hide his family poor literacy.

Lesser houses could not afford a maester, and a fastness in the deep sands did not even enjoy he benefit of a village semi-literate septon; only heirs lucky enough to be fostered away had the opportunity for some instruction, but the Sphinx was a bastard, and his father, though nobleborn, had not the smallest keep to his name. It must have been hard even for one so brilliant to garner the formal education required to enter the Citadel: Alleras was older than he looked, of an age with Armen, yet he had become a novice later in his life than Samwell himself.

“Your father, is it? You already knew.” He ventured.

Alleras nodded. “Yet, only my uncle's scrabbles made it true.”

Dorne was sparsely populated, and the letter had likely taken days of rough road – if desert even had – to any holdfast large enough for a maester. He had known through dragonglass, before the raven could fly, maybe he had even descried a grievous illness on his father, with no chance of doing anything.

“That's why you turned away from the candles.” Sam breathed.

“Visions are like mirrored images, better seen in the calm water of a pool.” Quoted Alleras, and his lower lip quivered in the effort to keep a level voice. “Unless you want to make true of your worst nightmares. I am not at my steadiest just now.”

The Sphinx looked brittle indeed and Samwell groped for words he couldn't find.

“Alleras, please. You shouldn't...”

“For tears are a woman's weapon, father would say? Don't you dare, Samwell Tarly.”

Tearing up eyes or not, the Sphinx pulled out a murderous stare and slung himself in the window seat. Tyrell had a point, about unwarranted for bouts of Dornish pride.

“Don't get me wrong, I _envy_ your tears. You are luckier than you would think.”

“Lucky? You don't understand, Sam. You are the lucky one. You still have a father.”

_One who likes me better dead at that; nor am I going to disabuse him any soon._ He doubted telling so would shine a brighter light.

“I can't understand, you are right, and mine was poor wording.” Sam offered. “I am a chicken, and would weep for a nick on my pinkie; but I don't think I would for my father. Not much, anyway. Gilly never cried for hers.”

By way of reply, Alleras dropped his head and clenched his jaw, as to ward the words about to gush out. Despite his soubriquet, he was one used to speak out his mind, and loudly, not to bottle up everything inside.

Sam waited for a while and concluded. “Fine if you don't feel like talking. You'd better let it out by some means.”

“How?” The Sphinx sounded as gritty as though he had not spoken in days.

“I don't know. Punch something or someone?” Jon had drowned his sorrow for Ygritte in sweat, and woe to the man he drilled with.

“Are you volunteering?” Alleras cast him a disheartened look.

“I am sorry I can't be much of a contest.”

When distressed, Sam would turn to honeyed cakes. He rummaged his pocket for some, courtesy of Rosey who would always kept Alleras's friends sweet, only to find a coral gum stick not yet shipped to Horn Hill squashed amongst his belongings. He had perused Edgerran's treatises and worried about Gilly; the teething baby would suckle and hurt her. It wouldn't do to think of her milk-swollen breast, lest more swellings occur, and Sam went back to his quest.

He couldn't count the day he would don a maester's robe; in its sleeves depths he would cache sweets and trinkets for children. A pity there were none at the Wall; and anyway, the Sphinx's idea of comfort food was not his own.

Hunting trip with Lord Tarly still held a place of honour in his son's nightmares, while the Sphinx sang fondly of skinning desert vipers, of spits stuck in the sand, of snoozing by the bonfire in his father's lap.

“The tail tip, roasted to a crisp, is scrumptious. The choicest parts were served to the true-born first and I was fighting with my siblings for whatever was left; but father slipped me his, for I was his little one, and my cousin partook of hers, because she is her father's heir. A Lord's son must be open-handed, as Lazy Leo would have it, even if she is a daughter and my uncle holds no such exalted title.”

It was good to hear even a bastard boy could enjoy some warmth. The Wall had thought Sam there were bonds other than blood, as strongly felt: even if not really his, nor hers, the babe was truly _theirs_ , the evidence of whatever passed between Gilly and him. _Not that I could ever hope to hold a son of mine, and the little one has no father either, so I'm not stepping into anyone's boots._

Alleras swallowed a lump. “For all your missed targets, I'd feel only worse being mean to someone who does not deserve it.”

“What about Leo?”

His feeble quip went unanswered. Sam looked at the small hunched figure and scarcely knew Alleras, who could fill the Quill and Tankard's common room and have the tavern wenches turning to him with a flick of his eyes. If he did, it was not for his imposing size. His own bulk had taught Sam to lie low, but the Sphinx was so slim he looked tall; he walked taller and gestured as if he owned the world. Now his confidence halo had shrunk to a flicker and even his links bold clink had lapsed into silence.

Nor was there a thong hanging from his neck. Sam worried.

“Where are your links, Alleras?”

He tipped his chin to a dark corner, where they laid on the floor, no longer worn proudly, polished to a shine as a warrior's plated armour or as a maester's only concession to vanity.

_What use is all the Citadel wisdom, if you cannot help the ones you love the most?_

Samwell picked them up; he would try his best to make him stay. They had argued to ungodly hours over obscure passages in half-forgotten books, or rebuild the world anew over some cider – or a pitcher of Summer Wine. He could not let go of him, not only a friend, but one who shared his own ambitions, a gauge of his own worth. Nor had Sam ever suspected he had much worth to himself to measure before he met Alleras at the Citadel, to begin with.

“Take them back.” He pleaded and pried open the Sphinx's fingers, so spindly and tense Samwell feared they could snap at a touch. He was clenching a green copper coin.

“He should have kept his luck with himself, but he gave it to me.”

“It's not your fault, Alleras. You can't believe it. It is not for a would-be maester to trust magic, charms or foreign spells.” Yet Marwyn the Maege did, to an extent.

“My father didn't believe in luck. Who would pick as lucky charm anything so chancy as the flip of a coin?”

“Put on your your links: I know how it feels, you should not give up.”

“Do you now?”

“Not really, just a stupid manner of speaking.” Sam lied. Even if he lacked a father to be missed, he had been close to someone who had lost his. “A friend of mine, at the Wall. He was from the North, and when his... When Lord Stark was executed, he tried to fly the Watch and join the North army.”

“So he was beheaded as his liege; how heartening. Did you mean to frighten me? Here no one got ever killed for dropping out.”

“We made him stay. He lived to earn himself a title in the Watch to be proud of, instead of a deserter's shameful death.”

“So what?”

Samwell was unfazed by his testy reply.

“Alleras the Sphinx is not the kind to do anything stupid such as leaving the Citadel nor to get drunk every other night as Mollander. Your father was proud of his only son studying at the Citadel, wasn't he? You will stay, earn some more links and become maester. It's what he hoped for; you owe him just that.”

“I know. I owe him. It is what I have been telling myself for days.” Alleras waved his hand. “I have a duty with my family and Dorne and all its Sands... I will do my duty, I will stay at the Citadel, I will forge a maester chain. Carry on, that's what my uncle wrote. That's what I keep repeating, and it is not making me feel any better.”

“I know how it feels. Maester Aemon was someone I truly admired, someone who did not judge me a hopeless failure, someone who...” Sam's voice flagged. What help was he to give, if he could hardly swallow his own tears? “If not a father the closest thing I ever knew. I did weep for him. You should recall how the loved ones are honoured in your Islands.”

The Sphinx countered. “Where did you look for reference: Longstrider or Gallard?”

“It makes no matter how I found out, Alleras.”

“You just can't help it.” The Sphinx's jeering remark softened halfway. “A book is what Sam the Slayer always reaches for, even to comfort a grieving friend.”

“For once it wasn't. I needed a kick to put me on the mend, and Kojja Mo kicked me to Gilly. So, Alleras, have I still to remind you, or can you remember by yourself?”

“How not?” Alleras found in himself to smile, albeit weakly. “Father would have loved that.”

“Go for it; Rosey has a thing for you.”

“You are not any nearer to a bull eye than Leo to his link.”

“She is not the only one.”

“I would never hurt her feelings and choose another girl.”

“Just sleep on it.”

Despite Alleras's words, for an eye bat a wicked glint rekindled in his eyes. Sam thought better to let it sink and left the the cell sure he had made a strong point.

 


	9. The Scorpions Love Dance

“Care for some wine, Tyrell?”

“No. No more scorpions, thank you very much.”

Short raps rang again on his door but Leo did not lift his nose from the page. Alleras had better _grovel_ , before he let him in.

“It was just a specimen from Ebrose's collection, dyed a bright green in your House honour.”

“Which has quite an unfortunate record as to Dornish scorpions, as you kindly reminded me.”

“Come on, Leo: my sister had nastier crawling in her vanity drawers. Yours was not that stingy even alive. Besides, this wine from the Summer Isles doesn't agree with fried scorpions half as well as Dornish sour.”

“No more Dornish tricks. Swear it. On your honour.”

Alleras huffed. “On my honour as a Dornishman, I do.”

“The Dornish are a treacherous lot.”

“Would m'lord accept to share a flagon as a token of my good faith? I need to cheer up and I would rather not drink alone.”

“I am always in for cheering up.” The door cracked open and Leo looked disappointed at Alleras's hands. “Only one?”

“I don't plan on ending up like Mollander. Truth be told, I couldn't stand my empty cell any longer.”

“If you need some company, we can do better than getting wasted: between the two of us we could muster a dragon and go seek for Rosey.”

“Last time you saw a dragon shade was through a glass candle.”

“I look for naked women only. Not like the real thing, though: do you know of anything more uplifting?”

“You could hardly glean a stag, Leo: we'd better stay here.”

Alleras was clearly in no mood; even his comebacks were toothless. Tyrell did not push the matter further: not that he minded being offered wine, and once he had drunk it off the Sphinx could even come to reconsider. He cleared the desk, piling the books aside.

The Sphinx flicked some pages and run listlessly his fingers on the mazy patterns of a map. “If it's not too much of a hassle for you, I mean.”

“I'd sooner get a headache from wine than from Vinegar's.” Lazy Leo snorted, nodding at the shiny brass far-eye by the windowsill. He scooped a cup out of a heap of scribbled notes, rooting around for another; instead he upended a former butter crock now holding a protractor, compasses and random writing implements and wiped its rim.

“Whom would you toast, Sphinx?”

“Father...” Alleras held the flagon high, pouring the wine with a slow sloshing sough.

“To your old man's health then.”

“Too late for that, I am afraid.”

Leo cursed himself for not getting it by the hint at Mollander, bit his tongue at the trite dark wing dark words, and tried to make up for his misstep with a more formal toast.

“I am sorry, Alleras. I really am. To Lord... Which Dornish lord was your father?”

“He was no great Lord, I already told you.” He stared down to his cup for a while. “A great father all the same.”

“Would you talk about him?”

“I feel more like drinking.”

Leo nodded, and just in case shot a wary peek at his wine: no danger in sight. The Sphinx had promised, but a Tyrell knew better than blindly trust the Dornish pretence to honour. He took a hearty swig, while considering how he could better lighten up Alleras. If his father's death was still too fresh and smarted, telling of his family would do him good.

“You are right. A man talks better with a wet throat.” To set a good example, Leo emptied his jar clean and left only a thin burgundy line tracing the rose etched on its bottom. “Why would your sister keep scorpions in her dresser?”

“What did yours use to keep a nosy little brother away from her filthiest love letters: spiky rose thorns?”

“I have no sisters, and proper ladies don't have dirty secrets.” Leo countered.

The Sphinx turned on him a disparaging look. “With your gaggle of cousins, don't tell me you never had a peek at any of theirs.”

Leo yielded. “I was half a boy, but I wouldn't have the likes of Hyle dowry-Hunt pluck a guileless rosebud. I picked up a fight with him and got the worst of it, but gave some back. Did you pincushion with arrows your sister's unwanted suitor?”

“It's not for a Sand to contend with a Lord's sons.” The Sphinx tipped his head in a mock bow. “Besides, Drey and Deziel were nice boys and I almost regret badgering them.”

“Nice indeed, if they didn't have you flogged for mingling where you had no business with: a Sand is fair game to any lordling.”

"My sister looks innocent enough, but she can take good care of herself, I promise you. I got a snake into my bed as a warning to mind my own business: I'd better wait and find out by myself what really happens between man and woman." Alleras flashed at him a wolfish grin. " _Fair game_ : is that the way of it? ” 

“Small wonder people take you for a Lord's son; you have pride enough for a Lannister. With such lowborns, how are the high Lords of Dorne like?”

“No Lords but Princes, and to respect the proper order, we should toast to them first.”

Etiquette dictated drinking the King's health, but the royal family was not on the Dornish good book at present. Luckily little Tommen was not weaned from honeyed milk yet and would not take issue if they skipped the customary address.

“As you wish.” Leo knew his manners, rose and called. “Dorne and its Princes!”

“Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken.” The Sphinx echoed unusually sombre as their cups leapt up.

They drank on in companionable silence, till Lazy Leo weighed wistfully the emptying flagon.

“Do you have more? We'd better drop in at the Quill and Tankard's.” Leo smacked his lips, and pulled a sly smirk. “For a refill, and not only.”

Alleras just drooped his shoulders and shook his head.

Tyrell patted his back. “You want to move on, Sphinx, and there is no better way.” Alleras was following his own train of thought, and Leo elucidated. “Nothing better than a willing wench.”

“I would sooner stay here.” He pleaded softly. “Who would have a mongrel?”

“Come on, I never meant anything by it!” For all his sharp retorts, the Sphinx's skin was not as thick and Leo's jeers had cut deep. “From Rosey to Emma, they all took a shine to you. Who would not? Your foreign cast only spice up your good-looks!”

“You are making mock of me. Have a look, do you still think so? I am far from my best.”

Lazy Leo looked. Without his eyes playful glitter, without the matching smile, Alleras was no less comely, no less of himself, yet there was something about him Tyrell could not quite put his finger on and that oddly added to his overall charm.

“I do.” He was taking to heart the mission of raising the Sphinx's spirits. “It's not the way you look only: your accent is hot enough to melt butter within miles; not to mention you are clever, quick of laughter, and have a winning mindset. Now drink.”

Tyrell handed him the flagon with a slam, and was taken aback by their fingers light yet lingering unwitting touch.

There was no denying the Sphinx was a fetching chap – a passing fetching one, truly - and Leo Tyrell could definitely see why Alleras was so popular with tavern wenches and Rosey wouldn't miss a chance to brush his hand when serving at their tables.

Only, Leo was not a wench.

He downed another quaff, to quench his hoarse throat and water down the Dornish acolyte's sudden appeal; but wine didn't make him any less attractive. Just even more so, if ever possible.

The Sphinx was looking sidelong at him. The thick, spicy vintage agreed with him and his dark gaze had won back some of its lustre.

Their eyes met and locked onto each other. Leo tried to call up Rosey's dimples when she smiled, the flush on her checks, the soft tumble of her hair, her feet nimbly skimming the grass, but her thrill voice melted into Alleras's drawl, her features morphed into his, and bright afternoons at the Quill and Tankard's only brought back his impish grin and gleeful eyes, the thin sheet of sweat glowing on his brown skin, his limbs flexing and tensing up, the smooth dance of his coiled muscles as he bent the longbow and released shaft after shaft, again and again.

“A tumble.” Leo repeated with a wooden tongue. “Best way to cheer up.”

Alleras trained his catching eyes on him and sloshed his wine, taking slow sips; even drinking, his mouth corners curled up teasingly. At last, he put down his cup.

“I couldn't agree more, and I would rather stay here.” He stated, ogling him.

Tyrell stared back: he couldn't possibly mean _that_. The Sphinx's grin broadened. Bugger. Alleras meant _exactly_ that, and was also thoroughly enjoying his fix.

He would have liked nothing more than lay his hands on the Dornishman, wipe away that smirk from his wine-stained lips, tackle him down and pin Alleras to the ground then and there... He inhaled deeply. Well, he'd better stop altogether thinking of dark lips, ripe and slightly parted as a splitting fig that oozed its honey.

Of those thrice damned, unnerving, mesmerizing lips that all but nailed him.

The Sphinx inched forward, always smiling. No. It was wrong in too many ways to count. Leo squirmed off, holding onto his crock.

“You must be out of your mind with grief, but I am not nearly plastered enough for it.”

Alleras's words rustled soft as velvet, sweet and intoxicating as his Isles wine. “Easy, Leo. I am not a Lord's son.”

“I am not my cousin either.”

Or so Leo kept telling himself; fuck Dorne and all its snakes, the adder looked smugly aware of every inch of effect he was having on him.

The Sphinx slithered on, his shiny eyes inky and dangerous as bottomless pools: one more step and he would drown. Words formed on Alleras's lips as he closed on him, but what Leo mostly heard was his own rushing blood. Come what may, by now he was past caring -

“I dearly hope so. I am a Prince's daughter.”

Leo Tyrell's world toppled upside down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another core point I missed is mourning in the Summer Island fashion.  
> It came out as a gender swapped, stripped down retelling of the story of Bradamante/Ricciardetto & Fiordispina, by Ludovico Ariosto, who manages to pull the "unexpected sex" trick on the poor Princess _twice_ and each time with a different gender, spicing it up with a dribble of twin sex too.  
>  I cannot compare to a monument of Italian renaissance, but bow could I possibly resist? Fior(e)-di-spina reads Flower-of-thorn, and her part beautifully suits Leo, who is a Tyrell rose. Not to mention a gay scene was due, Oberyn being Oberyn, and a gay scene _only_ would have been too vanilla to properly honour the beloved Prince's memory.


	10. The Princess Snake

Leo woke up still tipsy and chilled, side and legs bare: all the bedclothes were gone from his left. Moonlight glanced off an empty flagon on his desk, dappled a broken cup, caught the back of a toppled chair and skimmed a dark tangle of discarded clothes. Nights were getting colder and he had forgotten the shutter open: a Myrish eye, an inkpot and the star maps he should have been working at lay forlorn on the bay seat.

It had been sweet, but he'd better forgo drinking for a while, gambling as well, and save the money for a good whore, before such unseemly and topsy-turvy dreams, about one of his fellow acolytes no less, came visit him again. He blindly groped for the missing blankets, and froze.

 _No dream at all._ The coarse crop of close curls resting on his shoulder, the links smooth as silk and warm under his fingers, the slim arm draped across his chest, the deft hand which he had kissed knuckle by knuckle the night before could belong to one man in the whole Citadel: Alleras the Sphinx; and now they were well and truly fucked.

A satisfied small smile gracing his pout, his friend was deep in slumber, cocooned in Leo's beddings best part, to the topmost pale green counterpane tufted with a trellis of bud-shaped buttons. Alleras had no qualms about hogging the blankets: as both a Dornishman and a Summer Islander, he would loathe the cold, nor did he go by the common misconception that sharing bed involved partaking in bedclothes too. Leo pulled at the coverlet and shook him awake, not all too kindly.

“Hmph... What's up?” Alleras slurred and swept his lashes to him; he had never noticed they were so long.

The Sphinx looked a breathing and drowsy copy of the marble statues guarding the Citadel gates; the jade bedspread he was tucked in flattered his complexion and set off his onyx eyes to his best advantage. Leo forgot what he was about to say, toyed with a golden rose button hanging loose and remembered of a sudden he had not even asked Alleras who he really was.

“What would your House sigil be, my sun?”

As soon as he heard himself blundering, Leo startled as he had just found a snake in his bed: his case precisely. _The Prince of Dragonstone is long dead and not even Dornish. How many others' demise have you heard of lately?_ He had not realized how much out of his wits he had been, and likely still was for even now he could not think straight.

“I'd better take a turnip for mine.” He hurried an apology. “I cannot complain if I roll out of bed with a slit throat come morning.”

“That old story again? Just because once Nym.... It was an unfortunate misunderstanding and she never much liked men to begin with; but all in all you gave me no true reason of dissatisfaction, and you can keep your neck.” Alleras snuggled again in the crook of it. “It smells nice and warm here.”

“How gracious of you.” Leo replied wryly. “What are we going to do next?”

“About what?”

“Us. What am I to do with you?”

“As if I were the first woman you laid.”

“The first one I didn't pay for.” Leo confessed.

The Sphinx yawned. “Is that all? For your ease of mind you can pay me too.”

“Wish that I could afford a Princess's fee... Fact is, I am short on money.”

“Don't look to me. I never paid for a man and I am not beginning with you.”

Leo sidled closer but Alleras swatted him away. “No. I am sore and done with mourning for the nonce.”

“Just trying to get my rug back.” Leo grabbed it. “I have yet to figure out whether you walked out of a dream or a nightmare.”

“I am a sphinx: a pinch of both.” Alleras purred, holding onto the quilt.

Leo was freezing and huffed. “You are the closest to a Princess I can ever hope to swive: if you are so fond of green wraps with Tyrell roses on, I could as well call it quits and make an honest woman of you.”

“Lady Leo Tyrell? Sounds boring, and my lord's quarters are way too icy to my liking. As to names given by you, Alleras the Sphinx suits me well.” He frowned, negotiating the cover. “That won't do, Tyrell. What of our bet: giving up your link already, without as much as hitting the books?”

“You are no Prince's son nor Lord's daughter: first and foremost you are a grind.” Leo groused. “Don't preach me: it was just what I was doing, when Alleras the Sphinx barged into my life and hit on me. Earnestly, how could we deal with the whole damn thing? What if I let slip something about you, after one cup too many?”

Alleras made little of it. “As if anyone listened your _sober_ boasts to begin with. Just go on behaving as usual: if you stop calling me mongrel and address me as a princess, to my regret that's the day I'll have to rip out your clever tongue.”

“No one could mistake you for one nor am I as stupid as to call you my lady; go on taunting you, I can do: but after tonight I doubt I can act like I did not wish to bed you again.”

“What of it?” tittered Alleras.

Leo rocked his head from side to side. “And again, and again, and again...”

“You are broke and desperate for a roll, that's it.”

“Too true. Stay clear of Rosey you flirt.”

“As long as you don't whine any longer about me keeping my bed tricks to myself.”

“Never again. Really, someone could notice; Tarly is the smartest of the lot and he won't be easily fooled.”

“He will be glad I took his advice.”

“Did he suggest it? Not everyone has the guts to brave the Others to get laid, I guess, and such things might be not unheard of at the Wall, yet...” Leo Tyrell did not hide he was quite miffed. “We can't keep the secret to ourselves forever, tongues will wag and they will cotton on soon enough we sleep together and you are a woman.”

“People see what they expect to, and they would barely bat a lid at us.” A smug smile played on Alleras's lips. “We Dornishmen are known to swing both ways, aren't we?”

“But I am not a man like you!” Leo protested heatedly.

“I couldn't have made my point clearer about being a woman. Were you goofing off instead of paying attention, or too lost in the sky to notice?” The Sphinx mimicked Vaellyn's snarl. “Do you mind much I am not a man? Tell me you don't.” Alleras added playfully, propped on an elbow and took him in, tickling the downy hairs trail running down Leo's chest with bowstring-roughened fingertips. “I like it when you flush. Looks pretty on pale skin.”

“You will be the death of me already. I meant I am not Dornish.”

“Nary a problem on your side either: word has it Tyrell boys...”

“That would be cousin Loras _only,_ Sphinx _.”_ Leo stopped him.

“ _Cousin_ Willas as well.”

“Rubbish: just because he is not wed yet.” Leo Tyrell argued defensively. “Besides, how would you know him?”

“Father did.”

Leo groaned.

“Don't you believe me? He charged me with sifting the Goldleaf's shop for the best copy of archmaester's Vaellyn's last work, and have it illuminated with Tyrell's arms. A present for Willas's nameday, father wrote..” Alleras's voice hitched a bit. “Gilded roses rambling around every initial, lapis lazuli for the sky and gold for heavenly bodies: the book would please him, I answered back. A letter he will never read. Would you see it Highgarden, please? Your cousin is fond of stars.”

“A princely gift, no doubt. The day I am done with a bronze link, the heir to Highgarden can have my cartload of Vinegar's too.” Leo answered drily. “Must we, really? I don't care to know which of my kin your father shagged. It sounds... So very wrong right now.”

“Why, Leo? We just honoured his memory in the Summer Islands fashion, all in all.”

“You are a most devout daughter indeed, Alleras Sand.”

“That I am.” A content, snakelike stretch capped his drawl.

“Did you learn how to brew moon tea, I take?”

“Long before attending the Citadel.” The Sphinx sneered. “Fear not: I am still becoming a maester, so no babies.”

“Good to know. Gods forbid they take after their mother...”

Alleras whipped his head to him. “What do you mean, Tyrell?”

“Take no offence, but you are too much of a handful. A daughter like you would drive any man crazy.”

Before Leo could put up a makeshift defence, the Sphinx lunged and punched him.

“Ouch... I yield.”

“You better.” Alleras smiled. “But you are right: my father was not any man.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An Easter Egg for everyone who followed: from the beautiful animation film by Michel Ocelot [ “Princes et Princesses”](Https:%20//www.%20Youtube.%20Com/watch?%20v=Bwmdqnjco28) because Oberyn could have told this kind of tales to his daughters; I am fond of the idea there is something French in him.
> 
>  
> 
> .


	11. Such stuff as dreams are made on

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coming out. Sort of.

Sam upended his empty cup on the table and lumbered to his feet. “The last one for me as well.”

“Glad you enjoyed it, lads.” Leo graciously tilted his pate, steadied his still spinning head and set to stand up. “Time to go, I guess. You coming, Sphinx?”

The inn clamour had long stilled, most of the patrons gone. Dawn was greying the sky, and the terrace torches glimmered faintly in the uncertain light of coming day. Armen and Roone had already left and walked a reeling Mollander back to his sleeping cell.

The Moonmaid had rose, glistened pale and faded in the clouds that shrouded the Hightower, before the merrymaking came to an end. Archmaester Vaellyn had dismissed Leo with a meek “Another one who toys with stars, instead of tending roses.” which, on Vinegar's scale, scored as passing with honours, and Tyrell's first link had called for celebrations well worth remembering.

The Sphinx didn't move and tapped his goblet on the oaken plank. “I thought over it, and which better occasion? Samwell is due a long deserved explanation; he could never be readier.”

Leo slouched back onto the bench. “Did you sleep with him too?”

“And if I did?” The Sphinx chuckled. "You jealous?"

“I prefer girls.” Sam tripped on his tongue. “I think I do.” He winked at the disturbingly bright light of a sputtering torch nearby. “Not that I have been with any girl but Gilly.”

“Fine, Slayer. I do believe you never shared bed.” Leo acquiesced with a sigh as Alleras pulled at his blond rebel lock, already rumpled after the night toot.

“Are the two of you... Together?” inquired Sam, mildly surprised. “I wondered how you came to call a truce, after the scorpion affair.”

“I am still wondering how Alleras pulled the trick. Fried scorpions are not half bad, are they, Slayer?” Tyrell tried to sidestep the issue, while Tarly reached unthinking for the last one; only their side dip was mostly untouched. Roone, curious, naive and ravenous as any boy his age, had gobbled some and almost fainted. Armen had suggested it was better saved for the port defence: wildfire couldn't be much hotter.

“Easy enough: some sweet talk, and some kissing to get Rosey sway your eyes while she was pouring to you.”

“Did you kiss her already?” Leo pursed his lips. “She didn't ever let me come close...”

“Positively green-eyed, isn't he, Sam?”

The Sphinx flicked his eyes at Leo, who shot him back daggers, and by the end huffed. “No denying it. We are together.”

“It's relief you are no longer at each other's throat, and I am glad for you both, but.. Don't get me wrong, Leo: I would have sworn you too liked women.”

The Sphinx nodded. “As it happens, I am one.”

“Are you?” Sam wailed in horror. “We have been talking bawdry all the time with a...”

“Cool down, Tarly. You mostly blushed and Alleras told the filthiest, at my expense to boot.”

“How not, maester Longthorn? You are the man of the hour whose link we are celebrating.”

“My lady mother must have hated me, to pick such a namesake.” Leo grumbled.

“If you are a woman, why would you go about dressed up like a man?” asked Sam.

“How many young ladies can you see attending the Citadel, Samwell Tarly?”

Leo backed Alleras's point. “Past the Sphinxes gate the biggest tits are beyond doubt yours, Slayer.”

Samwell shrugged. “There are women fighting on the Wall yet. Why not here?”

“Here at the Citadel?” Leo twisted his mouth. “Go figure.”

“Give them time and they'll cave in eventually: the Mage calls them stuffy grey sheep for a reason.” replied Alleras.

“In your drunken dreams, Sphinx. That's never going to happen.”

“In my father's days, women were supposed to serve the Citadel as tavern sluts at best, and the firsts who illuminated books stirred up self-righteous outcries; now, Vaellyn's wouldn't trust his most intricate maps to anyone but Lyla the Goldleaf.”

“Along archmaester Ryam she is in the lucky few he doesn't classify as walking turnips.” agreed Samwell.

Tyrell shook his head. “What next, a White Cloak?”

“Blue. Been there, done that.” Alleras held his ground. “I am quite drunk, but you are fuddled: there was a woman in Renly's Rainbow Guard already.”

Leo sneered. “Sure, and what a Kingsguard was she: the one who killed him.”

“Ever wondered how Ser Jaime Lannister earned his names? None else but the present Lord Commander did it for Aerys. If you don't know that, you should better turn over your link to Gilly's babe as a teething ring. ” Alleras hissed back. “We are on a par yet.”

Tyrell mouthed off. “Go on like this, Slayer, and soon women will sit the Small Council.”

“Tick it out as well.” The Sphinx waved him aside.

“Alleras is right: once a Lady of the Vale, and then..” Sam began.

“Past history.” Leo talked him down. “You need not to reel off maester Glydan: only a fool would wish upon himself the woebegone days of Maegor the Cruel or a new Dance of Dragons.”

“Breaking news.” The Sphinx landed his final blow. “My sister is on her way to King's Landing to take up Dorne seat at the Small Council.”

“The Small Council, no less...” Sam drew a sharp intake of breath. “Not a wench, after all.”

“He is, Slayer, do trust me. On the smallish side, I give you that, but all the right bits in the right places...”

“Alleras is not any girl, but a high born lady.”

“No lady either, Samwell: our Sphinx is half a princess!”

Much to Tyrell's annoyance, his claim was not followed by an onslaught of delighted squeals; and there were not many, apart from Tarly, he could brag with about winning such a prize. Not that he had done much of the conquering, but still...

Had Slayer done better for himself? Gilly was a wild thing in bad need of a scrub and a man could hardly clap eyes on her without cringing, yet he looked up to her as the gentlest and prettiest of ladies. It was known Dornishwomen were the most beautiful in the world; Alleras looked like a boy, handsome and well groomed at that.

Disgruntled, Tyrell lashed out. “Any chance you met with Rhaegar Targaryen's son? It's not that you can boast of higher born friends in the gentlemen who serve at the Wall!”

“A brother to a King should count.” Sam made quick work of him and turned to the Sphinx. “Alleras, if only had I known... Forgive me, I should never have told all those stupid things about your father.”

The Sphinx squeezed his arm crook. “You said exactly what I needed to hear. You are good with words, Slayer.”

Tyrell rolled his eyes. “Stop it now, the two of you. No more cooing; and since we are at it, you'd better stop giving Rosey rope. She believes you a man, and has no need for further delusions.”

“Didn't you bed me all the same, when you realized I wasn't one?” Alleras shrugged. “Nor complained much afterward, as I recall. False hopes are all Rosey has been left with.”

Samwell looked at his fingers. “I made my blisters bleed, all for nothing. An envoy of the Iron Bank can rally dragon flights in a snap.”

Despite House Tarly and Tyrell valiant efforts, Rosey had to resign to her fate and surrender herself to the foreigner. She had gone to him willingly enough, bedazzled with fancies of a career in Braavos. He had promised he would bring her with him, and sailed off with the morning tide and no second thought. Rosey had not taken well to it and the fluttering smiles brought back by Alleras's flirtation and Leo's jabs tightened soon.

“To us, golden dragons hatch no more easily than scaled ones.” Tyrell summed up sullenly. “Even those are likely the stuff dreams are made of: has been a while since Marwyn sent us word.”

“I got news from him yesterday. They are real enough, he wrote.”

“Why didn't you share with us, Alleras?” Tarly asked.

“As a Sphinx, he takes some sort of thwarted pleasure in keeping things to himself.”

“It had... Some personal bits I would not rather let out.”

“Did the archmaester know about you?” Sam, followed by Leo.

“The Mastiff solved the Sphinx's riddle, it would seem.”

“He guessed, to an extent.” Alleras conceded. “He knew my father, when he studied at the Citadel.”

“For all their faults, no one would mistake Dornishmen for Summer Islands monkeys. “

“Are you nagging me, in the hope I will tell you about dragons just to shut your bloody mouth up?”

“That's what I am doing.” Leo confirmed.

“Have it your way, I was to copy that part for you anyway. The original stays with me; I have precious little to remember my father by.” The Sphinx yielded, and drew out cautiously a crumpled scroll. Not leery enough, for Leo snatched it and slung it to Sam, while blocking Alleras.

“Quick, Tarly. Skip the dragons.”

“You look nothing like your father, but you move the same way and have his hands: after so many years, they are still clearly impressed on me. Half a boy, and willowy as a maiden; I was already built like a bull, yet he broke my nose for calling him...”

Alleras with a desperate jerk wriggled free from Leo's hold, gave Sam a jab and yanked his treasure back.

“Calling him _what,_ Sphinx?” called out Leo.

“Mind your own business, m'lord.”

“That bad?” Tyrell snorted.

Alleras glowered at him, but Leo only smiled.

“Which more proofs would you have of me? You can trust me with a secret.”

“I'd better go.” Sam hacked, nailed to his seat, massaging his nose.

The Sphinx closed his eyes and blurted. “Birdie.”

“It's not awful; before Slayer, I was dubbed Ser Piggy at the Wall.” sympathized Samwell, while checking for the damages the Sphinx had wrought on him.

“Not much better either, Tarly. I would never let anyone call me so and go away with it.”

“Only uncle dared, when very very upset with father; anyone else made do with Red Viper. I am sorry, Sam: does it hurt much?”

“It does, but I deem myself lucky you did not hit _that_ hard: Gilly likes my pudgy nose.” Sam scrunched it, relieved. “We should band together, not brawl. We all have family in the Council and we should keep a more dignified behaviour.”

“My cousin, your father, and now Alleras's sister too.” Tyrell liked the sound of it. “Isn't that sweet? We, archmaester Marwyn's pupils, from three Houses of great renown. The most brilliant..”

“Leo, please, just don't. The Lady Nym will puff about the Council and her fellow Lords soon enough.”

“What would you have me say: that the Mastiff does have a questionable liking for the scum of society?”

“Indeed. Who else would consort with outcasts like us: a landed black whale, a woman in disguise, and a hopeless case?” The Sphinx smirked mischievously. “Now I think of it, I could beg Nymeria to bring his cousin's regards to Mace and his son's greetings to Randyll, just to prove she is not the only Sand on first name basis with half the Houses in Westeros.”

“Kind of you... But I am not that keen on apprising my lord father of my whereabouts.” Samwell put in.

“Nor I relish the idea of having my sweet auntie apprised of us.”

“Is she that tight-laced? She must have given the Seven Hells to your cousin Loras...”

“The lady Olenna would take in stride the news that I bed a fellow acolyte but I could never, ever deal with her knowing him as the half-caste by-blow of a murderous snake.”

“And here I thought it was you that coined the Tyrells' byword for half a Princess...”

“A pie I baked, but not one I enjoy to taste. Leave your sister and the Small Council be, Sphinx. Whenever you feel the itch for someone to needle, I am here for you.”

“I'll take you at your words;” Alleras swallowed a yawn. “But now, my lord counselors, we'd better adjourn to the next meeting.”

Samwell's gaze lingered on the Honeywine and the Sphinx cuffed his shoulder “Get up, Slayer. You were daydreaming.”

“Naked women?”

Alleras kicked Leo's shins. “Sam dreams of Gilly only.”

“Not her... I must be blind drunk.” Sam hiccuped. “The day my father has to pick up sewing or singing. Just to be safe from the frightening chance of coming across a woman, you know.”

“Small hope for that. I can mend a fishnet or sew up a sail as any seaman, and can hold my own as to shanties. Speaking of which, ever heard ' _Steel Rain_ '?”

“You'll get us all to a dungeon! Are you drunk, Alleras?”

“We will end up to the Wall: that's an Ironborn reaving song!” 

Sam protested. "What's wrong with the Wall, pray tell?"

"Apart from biting cold and an elected company of rapers, thieves and whatnot, with the occasional White Walker? Nothing at all, I guess." Lazy Leo rejoindered.

The Sphinx went on singing, undeterred, as they left arm in arm, laughing. Their drunken voices died off in the morning mist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is a quote from The Tempest, by William Shakespeare.  
> I can hardly stand stories that lend nowadays views and political correctness to a historical setting where they do not belong, so I just wrote one. Forgive me: I can plead to my excuse that young intellectuals and booze are a sure recipe for really mad, utopic ideas.  
> That is, dreams.


End file.
